


Romance

by Kirsten



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Criminal Minds Kink Meme 4, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd say they aren't romantic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romance

The lights are dimmed and music plays in the background. It’s quiet when Dave sits down in front of Aaron, food in hand.

The jet is not a classic setting.

It’s quiet because the rest of the team are sleeping. The music is from Morgan’s headphones, and the only food Dave has to offer is a cellophane-wrapped chicken club from an airport vending machine.

The overhead lights are out; Aaron’s finishing up paperwork by the table light. His lowered eyelashes are dark against his cheeks.

Dave watches him work. “You need any help with that?”

Aaron spares him a glance but doesn’t stop writing. “Thanks. I’ve got it.”

This is the point where Dave could sigh, if he were so inclined. Frustration could darken his gaze, and overt disappointment would gain Aaron’s guilty attention.

It’s not Dave’s style. Not where Aaron Hotchner is concerned. There’s too much for Dave to admire in Aaron’s intensity and focus.

-

Dave’s style. It’s like this:

He reaches out across the table and stills Aaron’s left hand with the touch of a finger. Aaron lifts his head and meets Dave’s eyes. His pen remains poised, like his gun on a raid.

Their eyes meet.

Dave eases the paperwork across the table. Aaron slowly relinquishes the pen. Their fingers brush against each other, and Aaron tangles them together for a moment.

Dave knows that touch is gratitude.

Aaron’s hands are empty and lax on the table. Dave focuses on the paperwork, but from the corner of his eye he can see Aaron lean back in his seat.

“You missed dinner,” Dave says, and Aaron’s lips quirk.

-

Aaron’s legs are crossed. Dave knows because it’s Aaron’s habit, and because he has Aaron’s left foot sheltered between his, a habit of his own. Dave sometimes likes to pretend Aaron doesn’t recognise it for the protective gesture it is, but those times are rare.

He can’t wish Aaron an ignorance of love.

-

A thought Dave often has:

 _Aaron’s been running his whole life._

He imagines Aaron’s feet are blistered with the pace of it.

-

Aaron eats the sandwich slowly, like it pains him. Dave doesn’t admonish, doesn’t coax. He scribbles through the Bureau’s bureaucracy, more thoroughly than he would if the BAU was his to screw around with. For Aaron, he’ll dot every i, and cross every t.

Aaron shifts in his seat and uncrosses his legs. He’s restless, Dave thinks, because somebody else is handling his job. Inactivity is too much. It offers no distraction. In those moments, it’s too still and too silent in Aaron’s head. There’s too much space for memory.

Dave brushes his foot against Aaron’s ankle. Once. Twice. Again, and again, and again. Dave keeps his eyes firmly on the paperwork. Aaron’s breath catches, but Dave refuses look.

He imagines. Aaron’s head tilted down and slightly to the right. Aaron’s eyes, watching Dave through lowered lashes. His lips, bitten red and pursed into a shape that only looks like disapproval, and his cheeks so faintly flushed.

Dave slides his feet between Aaron’s and nudges them further apart. Just a little. An inch, maybe two.

Aaron finishes the last of his sandwich and crumples the cellophane into a ball. There’s a significant pause, and then he tucks it neatly into Dave’s mug, half-full of still-warm coffee.

Dave grins down at the paperwork and nudges Aaron’s feet again. Another inch, and then another, Aaron’s legs opening increment by increment. Aaron’s breathing hitches for the second time, and Dave bites his lip as his own cheeks flush, aroused as ever by Aaron’s arousal.

Aaron’s hand touches his.

Aaron’s eyes, when Dave meets them, are bright with exhaustion and something that looks like desperation. Dave holds his gaze and slowly, slowly widens his feet. Aaron shakes his head minutely, but Dave keeps going, keeps his movements steady, until Aaron’s knees are level with the edges of the table.

He’s holding Aaron open, spread and helpless. Aaron’s pupils are dliated and his breathing has quickened. Dave wonders if he’s hard, if his slacks are tight over his dick, and almost groans at the thought.

Aaron’s expression is one of pleading. Dave squeezes his hand, and gets to his feet. He leans across the table and murmurs into Aaron’s ear: “Don’t move.”

Aaron shivers when Dave’s breath hits his neck.

-

The jet is quiet. Even Morgan’s music has faded to nothing, his iPod long since dead. Dave makes tea for Aaron and takes the time to compose himself. He boils the water and pours it into a mug, slowly dips the bag until the liquid turns deep gold.

Another thought Dave often has:

 _Aaron’s life is made of ritual._

-

Dave puts the tea in front of Aaron and sits back down. He slides his feet back into place and lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d held.

Aaron clutches the mug and draws it close to his body, not unlike a shield. He sips at it and murmurs a thank you. His eyes are lowered.

Dave fights the urge to roll his eyes. He picks up the pen again. “Try to get some rest.”

Aaron does roll his eyes. He doesn’t sleep.

Dave finishes the paperwork in thirty minutes, preternaturally aware of Aaron’s constant observation and the heat of Aaron’s trembling knees burning through his jeans.

-

It’s late when they get back, and they don’t collect Jack from Jessica’s. Dave sits in the passenger seat while Aaron drives. Aaron’s apartment, when they get there, is cold and unwelcoming without Jack’s presence.

Aaron locks up their guns and Dave claims the bathroom as his own, showers and changes into sweats and one of Aaron’s unwashed t-shirts from the laundry basket in the corner. The room is meticulously neat. Dave tries not to profile it.

He finds Aaron standing in the doorway of Jack’s bedroom. Dave watches him for long moments. He imagines Aaron coming home to his sleeping little boy, crouching over him and pressing kisses to his forehead. Dave’s rarely seen them together, but Aaron is a loving father. Dave has no doubts.

Dave knocks on the wall to gain his attention. Aaron spins around, hand at his hip, reaching for a gun that isn’t there.

Aaron swallows and looks away.

“Come to bed,” is all Dave says.

-

Later, when they’re on their backs and side by side, skin against skin, Dave whispers into the dark. “You were naked to me.”

Aaron’s body is tense beside him. Dave rolls onto his side and cups Aaron’s face, strokes his thumb over Aaron’s cheek until Aaron turns his head and meets Dave’s eyes. Dave kisses him, dry lips to dry lips.

“On the plane. You were naked _for_ me.” Dave kisses him again, and again, and tries to convey safety and love with gentility of touch. He knows Aaron can’t stand to hear the words he wants to say, not yet, but Dave can make him feel it.

Aaron blinks up at him. His eyes glitter in the streetlight that creeps in through the window.

“Yes,” he finally agrees, his voice as steady as ever.


End file.
